


Mementos

by prairiecrow



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Bondage, Bruises, Established Relationship, Love Bites, M/M, Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-12
Updated: 2012-08-12
Packaged: 2017-11-12 00:03:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/484381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A picture is worth a thousand words, and so much more besides.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mementos

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-"The Wire".

There was an ancient Human saying, oft-repeated, to the effect that a picture was worth a thousand words. In Julian Bashir's opinion that was perfectly accurate, although the images he had in mind were not the work of a conventional artist and the associations that sprang from them involved far more than what could be easily written or spoken.

Take the bruises that currently nestled in the hollows of his hips, for instance: four of them on each side, marking the urgent pressure of two sets of broad, powerful fingers. When Julian glanced down at them in the sonic shower or caught sight of them in the mirror they recalled the grip of cool grey hands holding him up and holding him still, painful in a way that flowed effortlessly into the pleasure of being exposed, and opened by blunt wet flesh, and filled centimetre by exquisite centimetre; the scent of the pillow his face was buried in, rubbing against his cheek with each thrust, slow and savouring at first, then quickening; the low guttural panting, almost a growl, of his alien bedmate, and his own cries, which he always tried to muffle and never quite succeeded in containing. Garak's hissing breath against his shoulder when the Cardassian finally yielded and bent over him, shifting one hand to brace against the mattress and wrapping his other arm around Julian's waist to steady him for a deeper and harder assault… the way his growling became more resonant, throbbing in the _v'raik_  organ in his upper chest… the way it made Julian's cock throb in turn, sweeter and hotter with every passing second and each punishing stroke over his prostate.

And those tiny abrasions on his wrists and ankles, barely visible in the cold light of day: what story did they tell? Garak was a master of ropework and always bound Julian just tight enough to burn, never tightly enough to damage: a kink that Julian had never suspected would turn him on so much, but as Garak filled him and claimed him he twisted his wrists against the bonds that held them crossed at the small of his own back, his fingertips clawing ineffectually at the fine scales that patterned the Cardassian's belly, his legs spread wide to the sides of the bed in glorious wanton abandon. In bondage he had no choice — or rather, he signalled a yielding of all choice — but to surrender himself to Garak's mercies, and the symphony the older man was capable of playing on his eagerly receptive body — a duet of alternating tensions, pleasure and pain, tenderness and severity… every night was a masterpiece, with Julian himself the willing instrument.

And on his right shoulder, a bite that still ached on the morning after: just enough to break the skin, to release the tang of blood that never failed to bring Garak to a crescendo with such perfect timing that Julian, writhing and wailing in the throes of his own climax, had the further delight of feeling dusky grey semen pulsing deep within him, marking him with a scent that would have warned even Gul Dukat that this prize, at least, belonged to someone whose hands were dedicated to dealing misery and death in the name of his beloved State.

 _Mine,_  that scent whispered, and Julian took pride that should have been shameful and could only be joyous, that he too was counted among the rare things that Garak treasured as his own.

There were few words in the aftermath either, when the ropes were loosened and they held each other drowsily, their hands tracing lazy sigils of warm possession on each other's skin. Julian never felt the lack. Words came easily for Garak; while always full of meaning, they were scarcely rare. But this silence… ah, this silence, rich with unspoken adoration, with sly smiles and slow kisses that luxuriated in the taste of Julian's mouth…

No, a million words would never be near enough.

THE END


End file.
